Everyday I have lunch
With a pink hippopotamus
The menus always the same
Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches
Oh, and Diet Cherry Coke
Cause he likes the way it tickles his throat

His friends sometimes stop by
To join the both of us
Hippopotami
If you're talking more than one of us
Or Hippo for short
If you're not into funny sounding words

Sometimes after lunch
Me and my friend the pink Hippopotamus
Like to take a drive
To the beach in his Minibus
He loves to catch the rays
Plus hang ten on a few waves

If you ever care for lunch
Feel free to join me and my Hippopotamus
But only if you like
Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches
Because it's all that he will eat
Which is fine by me
Makes for easy cooking and cleaning

as soon as the banishment in a forest comes to an end
all the rain-drops come to the ball-room with unfolded
umbrellas over their heads

the slumber of the adjourned dialogues
also breaks

all the blossoms of the cucurbitaceous plant
that are supposed to open their petals
have gone to the majlis of the aquatic-plants
riding on a wrong-minibus

then a photograph of the dinner- party
is to be found out and brought for the saliva-gland

there is no voice of the palms of the open-window
of his own

even then
each and every the air-hostess eagers to listen
to the song of boat-rowing from him

here the duck of the mid-noon
is engaged in pleasure
with the flower-vase of class x

their drinking-bowl is flying
along the flame of the rail-line

though it does not bear any grief
to the  large lake
that is wetted with perspiration  

there is no delta of misspelling as well

it has only the smoking of thousand cusec  
all the day and night

all the time that had been
has been spoken out

the plunging into life-pond
gets condensed within the paperback

then why the kovalam beach does shatter
when it finds the trace of new minerals

is it true then comes to her mind
the memory of the fugitive rain-girl

much sunshine comes for making crowd
on the grasses

in the moonlight of the apple
wakes up the magic
that is attached with the shirt of the
harbour

the white multi-storeyed
also remains sleepless

even-then…
even-today…

july means the amorous bickering
of the fish-girls for pleasure

inside a running minibus
here is the dialects of the fabrics

70 miles an hour and the crash called
Said now is your time and I am the wall
To smash you and trash you, turn you into pulp
And the mini bus driver just thought it a joke

I'd just overtaken that bus full of guys
Now the truck getting nearer, I'm nearly alongside
No warning atall and the minibus was there
Filling my windscreen with a heartrending scare

There never was room for him to get up ahead
I thought this was it, 3 of us will be dead
The two dogs as well there would have met the same fate
I don't know how but I stood on the brake

Into the traffic there on my right
I managed to avoid them kept the barrier in sight
Now the rear of the bus less than a foot from my front
The crash barrier about six inches to my right

I stayed in control but I still don't know how
My wife was in tears mother in law white
I'll never know why we're still alive
Someone or something made sure we survived

Starry-eyed, I peeked at you through the shop window
The salesman’s toothy smile was nothing to your new-polished glow.
Your fake leather belts and stiff rubber soles
Made me dream of journeys sans mud, debris, and potholes.

The salesman whispered the ‘discounted rate’ delicately into my ears,
I glanced down at my slender wallet and blinked back my tears.
My feet slid into your gentle folds, a warrior coming home,
I was fifty short but in your embrace, the world I wished to roam.

Your beauty was unsurpassed, though the insoles did itch,
And your buckles gleamed like fairy dust, when the toe-cap pulled a stitch.
You helped me traverse wet sand heaps on under-construction roads
You stood with me on the roller-coaster of rush-hour public transport.

You were with me through the muddy puddles, of early monsoon
Caked with dirt, you stayed alert, through alleys litter-strewn.
You held me in your hard embrace on broken footpaths
Helped me slink through curfew gates not even the cat could surpass.

And I should have known, you were too good for this town
My fake leather sandals with the rubber soles of brown.
As I hung off the bottom step of the spasmodic minibus
Beneath me the buckles ripped, the outsoles gave up.

And I know that over the months, we’ve had our fights
And I’ve said more than once that you were overpriced.
Though it’s true that I think you could have done with a discount
Never let them tell you, our bond wasn’t profound.

All my neighbors know of your tales of valor
What you lacked in durability, you made up for in glamor.
So what if the heels were rickety and the insoles tickled?
The road to affordable beauty with potholes is riddled!

While waiting
For a taxi
By a roadside
A young and  
An energetic lad
Came and
Without courtesy
Pushed me aside
To take a ride
Hopping on
A minibus taxi,
Only for one
Occupant
A place had.

Before ebbs out
My vexation
Another taxi
Drew my attention.

I hopped in
Condemning a grave sin
The lad's action--
"Where is
his sense
of decorum,
Preached on
Religious and
Cultural forum?"

Fast, the second taxi
Almost caught up
With the first,
Which got out of sight
To be stopped
By a traffic light.

Out of a sudden
I heard a deafening blast
That accompanied
Orange tongues of light
While the first taxi
Soared up like a kite.

With no need
To ask why
Such a thing
Happen out of
A clear blue sky
Occupants and I
Out of our taxi
Managed to fly,
For we were
TV sensitized
To keep an open eye
Of terrorist that vowed
To operate on the sly.

Though sad
That cursed lad
Snatched death
From my hand!

We were allowed out
of the minibus
for an hour
to explore the view
and have some refreshments
or explore where we will

don’t get lost
said the driver and guide

does he think
we're complete idiots?
Dalya said

I’ve been to Glasgow
and never got lost
and I had my brother
with me at the time
and he couldn’t find
his way to his backside
without someone
guiding his hands

let's have a look round Neustadt
I said

she walked beside me
leaving the mini bus behind
she was wearing
a red patterned top
and her blue jeans
that clung to her thighs
like a drowning sailor

not much to look at
she said
I’ve seen more to see
inside my brother’s ear

are you always this happy?
I asked

what do you mean
I am happy
just saying
what I thought

we came to a bridge
and a river
and stood there
looking at the boats
and water

O you should have seen
the Yank girl last night
O what a sight it was
she getting ready for bed
in the cramped tent
and I was laying there
already in my night clothes
trying not to look
and she was wearing
these tight *******  
that looked like
some kind
of torture contraption
red they were
with words on

what did the words say?
I asked

I don't know
it was in German
could have said
way in for all I know

anyway why would you
be interested
in what it says
on a girl's *******?

might be instructions
to a treasure trove

Dalya didn't smile
but took out a cigarette
and lit up

I lit up a smoke too
and watched boats
on the water

she's not your type
Dalya said

what's my type?

you're out of her league
she'd not let you
smell her perfume
let alone get inside
her ***** underwear

I like you
I'm not interested in
other girls
I said

just a well
she'd not be for you
she inhaled deeply
and stared ahead
at the water

anyway
when you are with me
in my tent
and she's out
can you not make
so much noise
I’m sure the Polish woman
suspects

what makes you
think that?

her look
the way she studies me
when we're together
that kind of
what a naughty girl
you are gaze

I smiled

no laughing matter
just because
her daughter's nun like
doesn't mean
I have to be

we walked on
across the bridge
some fine buildings
to our left

Dalya certainly wasn’t
nun like
the other night
I thought
remembering her
opened up
like a conquered city
waiting for the pillaging
and ***
her hands gripped tight
around my neck

the warmth
the perfume
the soft skin
she like some
harbour pilot
guiding me in.

Beware
Brit gal went on hols to Thailand, wanted a good time. What she got was hell. Riding a moped down a road, something went so wrong. She hit a minibus while going fast, whose fault was it? Was she on the right side of the road? Catapulted thirty yards in the road, thud!

Mushy head time. A Brit cop working with his Thai colleagues saw her. Her head smashed in, brains spread onto the road. Still alive and very conscious she asks for her parents, crying her last tears. Then she’s gone.

If you go to Thailand remember the poor Brit gal and her fatal accident. Don’t drink or do drugs and ride a bike or moped and wear a helmet.

Beware!